Irihi
Evildoer
The mage of the Fae See pondered Grubble’s reaction as the group prepared to march, contemplating just what it was about the ridiculous spindle-legged thick-armed man that so intrigued her. He was no TonDen--with it’s brilliant but slow mind, cooly analyzing its surroundings with the slow revolutions of its crystalline thoughts--that much was certain. Neither was he like Bruce, the endearing but mindless mindless murder machine of razored fins and flesh-rending teeth. No, Grubble was a different kind of monster; one made by accident; by the pure and cruel thoughtlessness of a child.
He was also kind of dumb and thought she was “weird.”
What would a bolster to his intelligence yield? She wondered. The mage was not in the habit of aiding others, but would making Grubble more acutely aware of the inescapable horror of his existence really be an aid? Well, of course it would.
As the party moved out and she trailed her escorts, the mage of the Fae See was approached by several of them, the first being the hammer-weilder, speaking that modern perversion of the true language that the benighted elves and other Fae of this land tended to use. Irihi could understand it well enough, though she usually pretended she could not. {{“Why thank you, dearheart.”}} The mage replied to Almeida in somewhat-intelligible proto-Sylvan. She could understand especially well, when what was being said was a compliment. Not so much with questions or misapprehensions.
As they passed through the depths of the wild wood, the astral projection of the sword of the armored fire elemental wafted back to drift by her side. She was an impudent little spirit, asking the mage for a scrying, of sorts. The hooded figure stopped, turning her head until cowl-shadowed pale violet eyes took in all of Seraphina. “Do you really want to know?” the mage rejoined. She noted that Flare had likewise dropped back and now loomed over the two of them, ostensibly to protect the spirit of her weapon. A wise move. The mage thought. They make a cute couple, but that would not have stopped me consuming her soul, once upon a time.
That once upon a time was not now, however. Her powers were at ebb, and she was much reduced. Mortals did not cower and grovel in fear, or snuff their matchstick lives out against her monolith power. Ghosts no longer fled her presence, shrieking in terror. It was peaceful, this world; a sabbatical from the maelstrom of her atrocities.
”Very well. So, a scrying. Well, why not? It was better entertainment than traipsing silently to their doom. The mage leaned her scythe against her shoulder and made a “come hither” gesture with one ruby-nailed hand.
A common woodland sparrow flitted, still chirping its morning song, down from the trees, landing in her palm. It twittered, fluffed its little feathers, and hopped to-and-fro on the mage’s pale hand.
Abruptly, her wickedly thin fingers closed about the creature and she flung it violently against the iron-hard trunk of an oak tree. With a cut-off squawk, the sparrow exploded like a tiny feathery grenade, most of it’s flesh and bones consumed in a burst of witchcraft.
Straightening her robes, the sorceress turned to examine the position and orientation of the few wingbones, bits of skull, feathers, and entrails that had survived being consumed by the blast of mana with which she had imbued the slaughtered bird. As these fated shards of the tiny taken life dripped down the rough bark, she divined what she could from the minor sacrifice. “I cannot see a future for you, dearheart,” she murmured, lost in the scrying, and not liking what she found there. “...only what you are, and what you were.”
The mage’s jaw tightened. Seraphina was not, and could never be, one of the witch’s beloved monsters. She was too close to what the mage, herself, was. “Just another flawed weapon, forged by a lust for power,” she sighed. There were towers of silver and glass--that rivaled even the glory of Karas O’ormel--in this one’s past. But in that shining world she had lived a life of lies and betrayal that those who had forged her had tried--and failed--to erase. The blood was already congealing and the casting became murky before she could divine much. Far greater sacrifice was required for a true scrying.
”Death is a doorway,” the mage intoned. “Forgetting is a gift.” She added. “There is much you have forgotten, little one. I would tell you to thank those who forged you; they tried as best they could, to scour the memories from you with fire--yet some remain. The steel in your heart is tainted by the impurities of them…”
The mage turned her baleful gaze upward, to the glowing grate of Flare’s suit. “Be careful how you wield this one; she is more fragile than she seems, and you could shatter her.” She warned.
Her attention returned to the image of Seraphina. “I would tell you to thank them--your makers--but they murdered you and your loved ones, and that forebears absolution.” The mage had unshouldered her scythe. Now her fingers tightened upon it. “Their deaths were not good; it could not have been easy for you to witness them--slowly disappearing down in that silent darkness.” The mage’s jaw tightened. She hated this. This was why she should not do readings for mortals. When the fog of malice parted, and she remembered empathy, it… hurt. “Forgetting is a gift. I wish I could grant it to you.” She said, for once meaning every word, before the stormclouds of ire again obscured her few pinprick stars of humanity.
“Perhaps with greater sacrifice; the eyes--or maybe the heart--of your fiery companion, I could do more for you.” The mage turned away from Seraphina. “But I will not scry you again.” She said, walking on.
[/I]
Speed
TheTimePiece
Karcen
Develius
Elvario
Corporal Iona Glimmerleaf
Equipped Titles: Tiny (0.2m), Fae, Fire Team LeaderMentions:
Speed
TheTimePiece
Karcen
Develius
Elvario
Glim let out a sob at Grubble’s words. The heartfelt comfort he was trying to offer her just about broke her tiny heart. She could barely keep flying, knowing what she knew. I can’t do this to him… to them! But she had to. There was no choice. Oh, they could lose M’lyrna to the bugs; let this minor strategic intersection fall. But the whole front was failing; was in danger of collapse.
If this mission failed, it would not lose the war, but if the company to the north likewise folded, and the fort to the south could not hold out, then these pinprick leaks in the dike would become an unstoppable torrent, and the horrors--the ones that glassed Glim’s empty gaze when she sat alone by herself--would flood into the See and consume everything.
Glim took a deep breath and put a tiny hand on the huge purple shoulder again. ”T-thanks, Grubble. You are helping me be brave,” she said. The corporal came to a decision. ”I would like to be your friend, if that’s okay with you,” she requested. I think I can open the portal wide enough for him. she thought to herself. ”I want you to promise me something, Grubble; no matter what you see, or hear, or what’s happening around us; I need you to stay with me.” She paused. ”I know this sounds like the job I gave you earlier, but I mean it, Grubble; things might get… confusing. Just… wherever I go, you have to come too, okay?” She requested.
And then fucking ghost girl was playing ouija with their mage. At least the annoyance Glim felt supplanted the miniscule knot of dread in the pit of her stomach. As the remains of the unfortunate bird dribbled onto the roots of the old growth tree, Glim flitted over. “Guys, she’s not a fire mage, she’s not a mystic or a fucking palm-reader. She our tank-buster.” The fairy called to the group at large. ”And… I’m going to strongly suggest that you all avoid talking to her any more than is absolutely necessary.”
The corporal turned toward the robed mage. ”Private, I’m going to remind you of you’re one job here--”
“I’m well-aware, Corporal; cannon fodder, just like everyone else.” The mage cut her off.
Glim blanched, her fairy sparkles fading like a dimmed lamp before she opened her mouth to issue a rejoinder.
Bug Outer Pickets
And, abruptly, the squad was in it. Something, perhaps a footfall from the woman walking point, maybe the argument between corporal and private, maybe at an unseen signal that had nothing to do with Fae, construct, or human, two Pincher Bugs and one Thrower erupted from the leaves and forest detritus where they had burrowed. The Pincers were close, the Thrower more distant. Each Pincer Bug chose a different target from the two leaders, while the Thrower took aim at the point woman.
One Pincher bug rushed Almedia, forward claws snapping. It aimed for her legs in an attempt to knock her to the ground with a [Pincer Attack E].
The Thrower Bug used its flexible tail to grab--not dung but--a rock from the forest floor. The rock was more deeply buried than the bug had anticipated, and it took some tugging to pull it free. It then flung the stone at Almedia with the impressive force of a [Ranged Attack C].
The second Pincher bug split from its companion and charged Yunaesa. It stopped short of the chainsaw-weilding skirmisher, arching it’s back to give more range to the poison-barbed tail. The tail lashed forward, aiming to deliver a damaging sting from above to Yunaesa’s head or shoulders.
Summary;
The Fae See mage, the squad is escorting, thanks Almedia for her “compliment” then gruesomly sacrifices a sparrow to divine Seraphina’s past.
Glim feels better (or maybe worse) when Grubble reassures her. She suggests the others not interact with their tankbuster mage.
BUG AMBUSH!
BUG 1 - Charges and Attacks Almedia with pinchers
Action 1: Unbury
Action2: Charge toward Almedia (move 30 feet) - now within melee range
Action3: Pincher Attack E - Almedia
Cooldowns: E 0/1
BUG 2 - Attacks Almedia with a rock
Action 1: Unbury (30 feet from Almedia, 50 feet from Yunaesa)
Action2: Dig out a rock.
Action3: Ranged Attack C - Almedia
Cooldowns: C 0/4
BUG 3 - Charges toward Yunaesa
Action 1: Unbury
Action2: Charge toward Yunaesa (move 30’)
Action3: Charge toward Yunaesa (move 20’) - now within melee range.
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